Sunday, February 26, 2006
Balancing Act
Sasha Cohen and Irina Slutskaya make it look so effortlessly easy as they gracefully glide over the ice, sublimely spinning, jumping, and spiraling, and all the while smiling. Of course I know it is much more difficult than they make it look. And I know that they have spent years and years practicing their sport and art. But watching them inspired me to try ice skating again at a church activity, for only the fourth or fifth time in my life.
I’m a reasonably athletic person, and recently I’ve been working on my balance in a new aerobic class called BOSU. There’s no doubt my balance is better than before I started BOSU, so I was sure this was excellent “land” preparation for ice-skating. I felt confident I could erase the unpleasant memories of my past unsuccessful ice-skating attempts.
At the rink, the manager asked me if I wanted figure-skating skates, or “these”—as he pulled out some big blue boots that looked a lot like roller blades. I didn’t know they were hockey skates, and I thought figure-skating skates were probably for “advanced” skaters, so I took the burly blues. I bravely strapped them on and clomped out to the ice.
With the first wobbly stroke on the slick surface, I instinctively knew what to do--I lunged toward the wall and grabbed on. I tentatively slipped and slid around the rink, trying to nonchalantly pass off my wall-hugging as just carefree slow skating, and leisurely loitering. Visions of emulating Olympic skaters promptly vanished. My BOSU balancing—no help here. My self-assessed athleticism—out the door.
Humiliatingly, I was the only adult clutching on to the side along with a few little kids. And those poor kids—if they weren’t fast enough to get out of my way, or small enough for me to straddle, we collided, because I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t let go of the wall to slip or slide around them. My friend Gail, (who incidentally, is also taking the BOSU class, and thinks it is harder than ice-skating--she's wrong in my opinion) skated up to me with confident ease and agility. She tried to coax me away from the wall. I courageously let go, and lurched forward a few feet…and fell. I didn’t seem to be injured, but how to get back up on my feet became an embarrassing new dilemma. I scooted to the side, pulled myself up, and resumed my one-handed death grip on the wall. "Maybe you'd do better with figure-skating skates," she kindly suggested. "I think it's harder in those hockey skates."
I had a glimmer of hope that the figure-skating skates might be the solution. But even with new skates, there was little improvement. After about two times around the rink a young girl sized me up, and asked, “How many times have you biffed it?!” I was demoralized, but it wasn’t over yet. Gail was still sympathetically by my side, and suddenly another friend, Brad, appeared on my right. “Let’s get her skating,” he commanded Gail. They took my hands, one on each side, and basically towed me around the rink, at their own peril, I add, because I came precariously close to pulling us all down several times. Brad was perplexed, because he too, had thought I was more athletically inclined. I thanked them both for their efforts, but discarded their pretense that “in no time” I’d be skimming the ice. I glommed back onto the wall and headed for the exit.
My ice-skating performance would probably garner me a score of about 2 points, given only by a sympathetic judge for my execution of a speedy transition off the ice and back to the skate return counter. I’m going back to my BOSU, on which two-footed jump landings are allowed. In the long run, since I know I’ll never skate in a “Long Program”, that’s where I belong.
I’m a reasonably athletic person, and recently I’ve been working on my balance in a new aerobic class called BOSU. There’s no doubt my balance is better than before I started BOSU, so I was sure this was excellent “land” preparation for ice-skating. I felt confident I could erase the unpleasant memories of my past unsuccessful ice-skating attempts.
At the rink, the manager asked me if I wanted figure-skating skates, or “these”—as he pulled out some big blue boots that looked a lot like roller blades. I didn’t know they were hockey skates, and I thought figure-skating skates were probably for “advanced” skaters, so I took the burly blues. I bravely strapped them on and clomped out to the ice.
With the first wobbly stroke on the slick surface, I instinctively knew what to do--I lunged toward the wall and grabbed on. I tentatively slipped and slid around the rink, trying to nonchalantly pass off my wall-hugging as just carefree slow skating, and leisurely loitering. Visions of emulating Olympic skaters promptly vanished. My BOSU balancing—no help here. My self-assessed athleticism—out the door.
Humiliatingly, I was the only adult clutching on to the side along with a few little kids. And those poor kids—if they weren’t fast enough to get out of my way, or small enough for me to straddle, we collided, because I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t let go of the wall to slip or slide around them. My friend Gail, (who incidentally, is also taking the BOSU class, and thinks it is harder than ice-skating--she's wrong in my opinion) skated up to me with confident ease and agility. She tried to coax me away from the wall. I courageously let go, and lurched forward a few feet…and fell. I didn’t seem to be injured, but how to get back up on my feet became an embarrassing new dilemma. I scooted to the side, pulled myself up, and resumed my one-handed death grip on the wall. "Maybe you'd do better with figure-skating skates," she kindly suggested. "I think it's harder in those hockey skates."
I had a glimmer of hope that the figure-skating skates might be the solution. But even with new skates, there was little improvement. After about two times around the rink a young girl sized me up, and asked, “How many times have you biffed it?!” I was demoralized, but it wasn’t over yet. Gail was still sympathetically by my side, and suddenly another friend, Brad, appeared on my right. “Let’s get her skating,” he commanded Gail. They took my hands, one on each side, and basically towed me around the rink, at their own peril, I add, because I came precariously close to pulling us all down several times. Brad was perplexed, because he too, had thought I was more athletically inclined. I thanked them both for their efforts, but discarded their pretense that “in no time” I’d be skimming the ice. I glommed back onto the wall and headed for the exit.
My ice-skating performance would probably garner me a score of about 2 points, given only by a sympathetic judge for my execution of a speedy transition off the ice and back to the skate return counter. I’m going back to my BOSU, on which two-footed jump landings are allowed. In the long run, since I know I’ll never skate in a “Long Program”, that’s where I belong.
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